Chapter 2: The Last Hope

The ship's detention center was an orderly place. This was due to the efficiency of those who previously ran it, who were now quite a few light years away. The harsh lights and white noise generators made it seem at the same time bigger and more empty that it was. In the year and a half that they had been tasked with helping enforce the peace that did not exist between the X'tonu'u and Y'valantic, three of the shuttle bays had been converted into holding areas, and then jail cells for the ever growing number of prisoners. The port bay was for the X'tonu'u and the starboard bay was for the Y'valantic. The center bay was for the security officers, with part of the space dedicated to the interrogation center. At this point, there were no more questions to be asked. Even if there wasn't an emergency, the situation between the two worlds was well-known, as were the main players, and even the bulk of their plans. Most of the interrogation center was unused space, except at its center. In the depths of this space was the so-called "Heart of Darkness"—the sensory deprivation chambers.

While not built as a torture chamber, it could function as one. The chamber was as good at producing sensory input as it was at removing it. Sensory input like the feeling of being burned alive or violently dismembered. These were shocking and painful, but in reality the removal of sensory input was more distressing and damaging. The control center was outside of the chamber, overlooking it, though from the chamber itself, nothing else could be seen, and sometimes absolutely nothing could be seen, in the same way that sometimes nothing could be heard, or felt, or remembered, or loved, or even hated. There were not many security personnel left, but more than enough to manage the prisoners. And there were new guards who replaced some of those who had left. It had an appeal to a certain demographic—it was not a hard job and they were given weapons.

An X'tonu'u man was strapped into a chair, though the straps were there to hold him only when the chamber was not active, usually only when prisoners were first brought to the room or taken away. He wasn't struggling against the restraints, but he did not seem at ease either. His eyes had a glassy look and there was foam at the sides of his mouth.

The operator had just idled the machinery at the order of his superior officer. The gauges showed the vital statistics dropping back into a more normal regime.

"Aren't you going to ask him any questions?" asked the operator.

"No, he's got nothing to say that we care about," replied the officer. "I've actually heard all that I want to out of him."

"You're making an example of him?"

"I suppose they could take it that way. Though really, everyone likes to play with their toys a little."

"That sounds horrible," the operator confessed.

"Look, I don't hurt them. I don't break their bones or tear their flesh. I merely take things away from them, one at a time and observe their reaction to that over time."

The officer then tapped a sequence into the control panel and slide a lever up from the bottom of its range to the top. The operator gasped and reached out towards the lever, but his hand froze in the air, not daring to touch the officer's hand.

The man in the chair gasped, shuddered once, then stiffened up. A sequence of red lights flashed on the operator's panel. The operator looked back at the officer with alarm. After five seconds, the prisoner's body slumped back into his chair.

"He's...he's dead..." the operator said in a tone of disbelief. "You said you don't hurt them. And he's gone...dead."

"Look, I meant I don't always do that. It's just a good thing to do every now and then to let both the X and Y's know you're serious about it."

"About what?"

"Everything. Shut things down here, let's do a physical check."

They walked in the room, with two armed guards following behind them. The officer poked the lifeless body with his weapon twice. Seeming satisfied, he did a quick digital scan of the body. Smirking at the results, he reached out and grabbed the dead man's belt and pulled a small device from behind it.

"Something important?" asked the operator.

"Oh certainly. An image holder. Organic circuit technology. Very nice bit of X work. Usually of family, sometimes friends, but it can be reprogrammed, might come in handy," and with that he pocketed the small cube. "Besides," he added, "he won't be needing it anymore. By the way, what time is it?"

When the operator told him the time, he curled his lip back and growled quietly to himself. "Alright. I have to go to... to go," he said. Then looking behind him, he said, "Clark, Travers, you two are in charge till I get back. Clean up this mess. You can keep anything that interests you."

"What do we do about the body?" asked the first guard.

"Shoot it into space?" volunteered the other.

"I suppose," he answered without a thought.

"No one would find it," replied the second.

"Yeah...I sure as hell wouldn't be looking around for a body out there. That's the last place I'd want to be," the officer admitted. "Sure, do whatever you want," he said and turned to walk out the door.

"Aye aye, sir," the two guards said, almost in unison.

*****

Science Lab 40-3, as its name implies, is the third science lab on Deck 40 of Section B the Circle's Edge. While far enough away from the original reaction (nascent matter strike? T-N space discontinuity?) as well as the blast and radiation zone from the engines, it still looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. Equipment that had sat on shelves in an organized fashion lay on the ground, mostly broken. Chemical cabinets lay sealed, covered by a thick layer of acti-foam, preventing the toxic, corrosive, explosive, flammable, or otherwise dangerous mixes from reacting in the hazardous way in which the chemicals would normally react. Dark stains along two of the walls indicate that not all cabinets had been treated with acti-foam in time.

Along the wall opposite the entrance sits the front section of an emergency escape pod, looking like it had rammed right through the ship's outer wall. The words "The Last Hope" are painted on sign sitting on the side of the pod, just before it meets the wall.

In fact, it had been maneuvered from a storage bay into position, through an isolation chamber that could vent fumes, by-products, or more or less anything out of the chamber and into the vacuum of space. Two sets of thin sheet translucent sheeting formed a seal around the hole in the ship, keeping the escape pod snugly docked while protecting the lab from the risk of decompression. (While the thin sheet film appears flimsy, it was as strong, if not stronger, than the shell to which it was attached. It was not a rigid structure, but it would maintain the pressure differential indefinitely, and provide some protection against low levels of alpha and beta radiation.

Several men, wearing jumpsuits that identified themselves as general purpose unskilled labor, were mulling about, attempting to look like they were doing work. An overweight staff sergeant walks into the bay and starts yelling at them.

"What in the blue blazes of Sirius are you doing? We've got, what, a day left to get this and the other pods working and you lazy good for nothings are just standing around?"

A beanpole of a private replied, "But sarge, Jenkins told us to stay out of his way. After what happened with the last pod..."

"And what happened with the last pod?" demanded the sergeant.

"Well, we were about to try a test of the internal power systems, when something happened. No idea what."

"Lefty dropped a spanner into the conduit system," volunteered a young private wearing threadbare jumpsuit.

"Shut up! Ignore him, sir. Anyway, it all starts sparking, and Jenkins starts telling us to do one thing, then another, then something else, till one of us is trying to power it up, another one shut it down, and the third acti-foam it."

"You acti-foamed a power conduit?" the sergeant asked incredulously.

"No sir. I certainly didn't. But somehow, someone did. It made an unholy mess, sent Beltson to the infirmary, and cooked the pod. Jenkins was a bit upset. He told us not to mess anything else up and only do what he tells us to do."

The sergeant was upset, but punishing the men for doing something hours ago would be as effective as telling a dog not to eat any more socks, a day after intestinal surgery to remove the eaten article of footwear. He turned away from them and surveyed the pod. His eyes fell upon the painted sign.

"The Last Hope?! Is that some sort of joke? That pod only holds three people. If that's our last hope, we might as well blow our corona now. What idiot painted that?" The staff sergeant turned back around and stared at the three privates, waiting to see which one would crack first. Curiously, they looked frightened, but more like if he had just said something blasphemous against the stars, as opposed to threatening them.

"I put it there, Staff Sergeant," came a voice echoing from within the pod. Now it was the sarge's turn to look scared.

Technical Sergeant Jenkins walked out of the pod, surveyed the scene, and then looked at the words painted on the shuttle. "I put it there to remind me of the importance of my mission. If I can get this pod to work, I can get many of the inoperative pods to work. It's not just three people whom I would save. It could be many, many people. The note is to remind my that I am the last hope for almost 2,000 people, whether they know it or not. And I would thank you to not delay me any more."

"Yes...sir," the staff sergeant said quietly.

"Whatever the power surge was, it sent a tremendous amount of energy throughout a number of sections of the ship. The power conduit channel on this one is completely burnt out. If you could manage to locate maybe 40 meters of beryllium conduit, this one would be ready to launch in less than an hour. I don't care if you have to turn this and every lab upside down to get it." Then with a dismissive wave, Jenkins said, "That is all," and turned to go back into the pod.